Okay. I'm sitting here at work in my slacks with no underwear on. Is it because I'm some swingin' dude who likes to keep porn star ready? Is it because I'm a cheap bastard who thinks if people can't see 'em, what's the point of wasting money on 'em? Or is it because as I was riding my bike into work today I hit a bump and shit myself?

BINGO!

Okay. A little history. I am thirty years old, I have a healthy diet, and I am a regular shit machine. My morning movements usually come in three stages:

6:10 AM. The Log. This is your standard eight-to-twelve incher, sometimes J shaped as it curls into itself once it hits the bowl; it's made up of yesterday's lunch.

6:35 AM. Wet Evacuation. This is all the leafy greens and apples I ate the night previous. It comes out almost like a light, fibrous diarrhea, but without the annoying burn. It's a satisfying shit to say the least -- it leaves the colon feeling empty and clean. It's a bowel churner though, and not a shit that you can hold off on -- when it wants out, it comes out!

8:45 AM. Time-to-start-my-shitty-day shit. This is the turd I leave when I first get to work. I'm not sure of its source -- I think it might be my body spitting out whatever waste it can gather in protest of my job. This shit, while stinky, is rather unremarkable in appearance.

On to my story. I ride my bike to work every day. It's an eighteen-kilometer trek, most of it down a scenic valley path. This morning I was in a total rush to get out the door -- since I knew it was going to be a slow day, I wanted to stop along the bike path and smoke a small joint on my way in.

I left the house at about 6:20 AM, not even thinking of the daily Wet Evacuation as I started towards the path. Only about three kilometers into my ride, I decided to stop to enjoy my pre-rolled masterpiece.

Now let me say this: I am not advocating drug use of any sort. It's wrong and you will be punished for it. I was.

Anyhow, I was sitting by the river and it was about 6:30ish. Anyone who smokes cigarettes can tell you that they can sometimes work like a laxative. Weed is the same way for me -- I take a few drags and I feel my abdomen begin to churn; I can hear the gas chortling through me as last night's leafy greens turn the corner into my colon. I stood erect -- quickly -- and clinched my butt cheeks together. Good old clinchy, it's never let me down!

I stood there like that for five minutes, hoping the shit recedes back into wherever shit recedes to when you hold it long enough. Finally I felt the pressure subside and I was good to go... or so I thought.

I hopped back on my bike to continue my trek to the shop when, in my semi-stoned state, I hit a bump. Instantly my bike seat jammed up hard against my ass and blam-o! -- turd goes everywhere.

It was an immediate evacuation. About a quart of light brown fluid and spongy poo bits flushed from me, through my already-thinning underwear and out both legs of my baggy shorts. It was warm and smelled of garlic. I pulled to the side of the path and laughed -- well, it was funny! -- and did the best I could to clean myself up. Luckily I bring a change of clothes for work in a sidesaddle; unluckily, the zipper was partway open and some liquid turd made its way on to my change of undies.

I ended up riding in sans underwear in shit-stained shorts. I arrived before everyone else and got changed. The whole area around my office stinks, though I have the shitty shorts wrapped up in a plastic bag and stuffed under my desk. Someone is bound to say something! HA! And now I've got to wait until everyone leaves before I can go because I don't want them to see my shame. Oh well -- at least if I meet some hot broad on the way to the washroom and she invites me in I can be all John Holmes-like (minus the huge wang) and pull out my schlong unencumbered by my gitch.

-- Miguel Del Diablo